


maybe if our worlds collide

by finalizer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:15:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are <i>not</i> better left unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe if our worlds collide

**Author's Note:**

> i woke up today and i was like you know what man i goddamn ship this

_It starts like this _—__

 

The med bay smells of antiseptic and fresh linen, Finn thinks, though he’s not entirely sure he’s awake enough to be aware of anything. He’s hardly certain he’s awake at all.

/

People bustle around him. They’re loud and they’re everywhere, and then they’re not. Maybe they left, maybe they upped the dose of the anesthetic. He doesn’t have much time to debate before he floats back off into oblivion.

/

The first time he drifts back into consciousness for longer than a few seconds he’s not quite sure where he is, or exactly how much time had passed since he’d ended up there. There, wherever he is.

In the sanctuary of his own side, he thinks _—_ the Rebel base, blessedly. He’s alive and he’s being tended to. The thought is comforting enough for him to let his eyes fall shut once more.

/

The next time he wakes, he’s lucid. There’s a nurse at his bedside, flipping through his chart. She glances up when he tries to force out words; his throat is hoarse and dry from disuse. There’s something frightening about it _—_ the sheer thought of how long he must’ve been out for his speech to short out. He is handed a glass of water and accepts it with shaking hands.

It takes a few minutes before he’s able to form words as well as he wants. He asks after Rey, and is entirely unsurprised to hear she’d already gone.

/

Later that day, or maybe the next _—_ he has no way of telling _—_  the door is pushed open and Dameron stalks inside. For lack of a better description, he looks frantic.

“They wouldn’t let me see you ‘til now,” Poe says in a rush, crossing the length of the room, “You idiot, you almost got yourself killed.”

Striding right up to the bed, bracing one hand on the side rail and leaning over Finn, he presses a chaste, determined kiss to his lips. It lingers, then he pulls away. There’s something long-anticipated about it, as if he’d been itching to do it for ages, and simply couldn’t restrain himself once he’d gotten the chance.

He takes a step back and sinks into the lone chair at Finn’s bedside, exhales in utter relief. He’s hardly abashed.

“Sorry,” he adds, because he may have gotten slightly ahead of himself.

/

Finn didn’t mind the gesture, and he wonders why. That, and he’s wondering about the sudden serenity that overcomes him after Dameron’s visit. He rationalizes he’s just placated _—_ he hadn’t even known for certain if Poe was alive, after all.

He knows that’s not it. It’s not the whole story, and something else is creeping at the edge of his consciousness, trying to make itself known.

He also knows Poe wasn’t really sorry.

/

The next day rolls around, then the next. First he stays awake for more hours than he sleeps, soon after manages to speak without losing his voice halfway through the sentence.

The medics tell him he’s bound to make a thorough recovery. Dameron tells him he looks better in his jacket than he does in the hospital gown.

/

He’s concerned for Rey, but he knows she wouldn’t have taken on anything she didn’t deem herself able to accomplish. On second thought, Finn remembers she thinks quite highly of her own abilities, too highly perhaps, and tries not to let his confidence in her falter. She’d never given him a reason to doubt her in the short time they’ve been friends.

/

He regains some sense of passing time, counting meals and listening to the foot traffic outside his door. He can’t stand being unable to push himself up off the bed, let alone make it a few steps on his own two feet.

Poe’s visits are irregular, and there’s not much else to keep him occupied.

/

“Why _Finn_?” he asks.

Poe looks up. “Hm?”

“Why’d you pick that?” He pauses, then, “Or bother at all?”

“First thought. Besides, everybody needs a name. You’re not a number.”

/

In a matter of time, Finn qualifies for physical therapy. It’s ridiculous, he thinks, because he can barely stand for longer than a few minutes before his knees go weak, but he leaves the final call to the professionals. He’s grateful he’s even alive _—_ it’s goddamn miraculous, really.

/

Dameron tries to hide something behind his cocky smile and casual attitude. He doesn’t do a very good job at being subtle about whatever it is, Finn notices.

He allows himself to entertain the notion of it being a _crush_ and it’s too childish and bizarre to even imagine. And the kiss _—_  that’d been a rush of emotion in the heat of the moment, not a declaration of everlasting love. Probably. Poe never does think things through all the way.

He finds himself somewhat nonplussed to discover he would not mind it happening again.

/

Finn jokes that the therapy is more agonizing than the wound itself. It’s lighthearted words to diffuse tension, to lighten the mood, to get his mind off everything and anything that burrows its way into the back of his mind in the form of intrusive, dark thoughts.

On the upside, the physical recovery takes a positive turn much sooner than he expects it to _—_ he’s sitting up more days than he’s lying in that damned bed.

That, and Poe drops by more often.

He’s not sure which makes him happier.

/

“Don’t say that about me _—_ don’t call me that. _Rey’s_ the hero.”

Dameron gives him an earnest nod. “Of course she is,” he says seriously, “but so are you.”

“And you too, then,” Finn counters.

/

A nurse comes right before lights off and Poe gathers to leave, drawing himself up from the edge of the bed he’d been perching on. The woman fixes him with a very knowing look and he rolls his eyes before taking off towards the door, bidding Finn goodnight, as easygoing as ever.

Finn’s glad to know he’s not paranoid, that there’s more to Poe’s obvious flirtation than a long running joke at his expense.

It later dawns on him, how oblivious he must have been, for the nurses to know before he himself did.

/

Finn finds he can sit up all day without worsening his condition.

It’s a good day, his spine’s not wracking him too badly, and he’s not doped up enough on painkillers to be unable to function entirely.

Dameron’s seated across from him on the bed, one leg hanging off the edge, dark hair drooping down into his eyes. He’s staring down at his hand of cards intently and Finn wonders why it took him so fucking long to realize.

/

One evening, they’re talking and Poe senses a change, the overall hesitancy. He’s smiling a lot less and Finn can tell he knows that Finn knows.

He sees no solution more persuasive than pressing forward and, with a hand at the back of Dameron’s neck, closing the small distance between them and pulling him forward into a convincing kiss. Poe almost slumps against him in relief, and Finn just angles in closer, to get his point well across.

Poe’s the first one to pull away, for lack of air rather than of enthusiasm. He levels Finn with a calculating look for a moment, before gasping out a laugh and breaking out into a wide grin. “That’s encouraging.”

/

Whatever happens between them just _happens_ , without the need to talk about it or discuss moves they’re going to make next. It’s easy _—_  it’s so damn easy _—_  and Finn almost wishes he’d realized it all earlier. Sure, he’d never had a problem appreciating Dameron’s looks (and ass) but that was one thing, and feelings were another.

And not a bad thing, at that.

/

Within a few weeks more, Finn heals enough to walk without support. The medic makes a rather suggestive point of warning him against any strenuous physical exertion.

There’s no way Poe hears any of that, from where’s he’s standing outside the office, but Finn swears there’s a poorly concealed smirk on his face when he walks out.

/

Though there’s no designated route to take, no directions, no tips or pointers to tell them what’s to follow, they make do notwithstanding. It’s comfortable and comforting and motivation enough to get Finn through hours of therapy without spontaneously combusting.

/

“Keep it, I’m serious.”

“No, you don’t _—_ “

“Really, it looks better on you.”

 

 

_— and that’s the beginning._


End file.
